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Author Topic: F**k it... I'm writing a poem  (Read 19777 times)

Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #25 on: February 12, 2010, 01:05:46 PM »

5 Words or Less
Written While Drunk; Surprisely Coherent

The imperative misjudgement resulting from an enduring desire to seek company, in 5 words or less.

The haunting realization rotating back around in solar orbit always descending at this time of year to remind me of what's missing in me, in 5 words or less.

The echoing judgement, hollowed out between the cliffs of injustice, a painful ravine from which spews forth all manner of beauty that you will never recognize or see or hear or acknowledge for whatever reasons that stupefy you, in 5 words or less.

The cruel irony at the bottom of the glass last seen as half full waiting to steal our breaths away in a futile attempt at murder, in 5 words or less.

The rap song speech half melancholy and mostly malicious against indifference and apathy that birthed it and without this it wouldn't be, in 5 words or less.

The cynicism that I am all too familiar with that comes crashing in benevolently each time my morning alarm recurses the beginning of the day, in 5 words less.

The reason we sleep in the dark of the shadow of the dead bodies piled high, a price that was paid and paid and paid and paid, in 5 words or less.

The dictionary of logic, dumbfounded and accursed by the illogical and those humbled before a source yet to be proved or touched or hypothosized beyond the initial glance at the mica reflective of their circumstances, in 5 words or less.

The challenge, all too simple and oxymoronic, is to take that which is inside of us and at the moment of understanding display it and defend it and claim it, as if to say we had the material to do so, but only if it can be done in 5 words... or less.
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xolik

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #26 on: February 12, 2010, 01:19:35 PM »

Here I sit, same as ever
took a dump, pulled the level
the toilet jammed
the water flowed
look out world
it's the motherload!
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #27 on: June 08, 2010, 08:39:16 AM »

The Universe as Seen Through a Martini

Could've been a mime.
You wouldn't have known me better.
The universe fits into an olive in my martini glass.

Could've been an actor.
You might have liked me better.
Communication lacks in a communicating setting.

Could've been a lost boy.
You might have related to me better.
Growing up in smoke and clarity gives me a slight advantage.

To roll the ice cube down the volcano into sludge,
It seemed an insurmountable task for one such as you.
Incense does not impart strength. Ever.
Could've been a dancer too.

Could've been a lawyer.
You might have been happier.
But I'm not, and you're not, and the cosmos in my cup don't care.

Could've been a doctor.
You poor pathetic thing.
At least I'm happy, underneath society, underneath the pavement, underneath your stare.

Could've been a liar.
Oops, you already are.
Don't frown on me too quickly, you'll ask me for help in a minute.

And the cosmos in my cup don't care.
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Demosthenes

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #28 on: June 08, 2010, 08:52:47 AM »

I like it!
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pbsaurus

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #29 on: June 08, 2010, 12:20:31 PM »

ivan

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #30 on: June 08, 2010, 02:18:35 PM »

Pretty damn awesome, Wunderkind!
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #31 on: June 08, 2010, 03:13:29 PM »

Thank you. This thread is one of my happy places. I didn't think it would be, but it is.
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #32 on: June 22, 2010, 07:32:11 PM »

CLICK (Also Known As "Eleven Hundred")

Eleven hundred.
Summer solstice sun rises.
The fan unfolds, fold by fold.

click, click, click

Eleven hundred and one.
Soul moment breathing in.
Hammer pulls back behind the barrel.

click, click, click

Eleven hundred and two.
The ashes fall out,
Of the pipe bowl as it's tapped.

click, click, click

Eleven hundred and three.
Foolish little child, who I met here.
We'll never meet again and I won't miss you.

click, click, click

Eleven hundred and four.
Last breath, exhale the cosmos.
I only wanted one moment more.

click, click, click

Eleven hundred.
It won't rhyme, it won't tick or tock.
It won't sound pretty. It's a digital clock.

click
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ivan

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #33 on: June 23, 2010, 01:43:18 AM »


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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #34 on: June 23, 2010, 08:14:46 AM »

Exactly, ivan. Exactly.
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #35 on: July 26, 2010, 10:15:14 AM »

Distinction

There is a distinction between me and you.
Sometimes wide and shallow, but often deep and narrow.
There is a canyon between me and you.
I have stumbled across a ravine today.
I see a fjord in my future tomorrow.

There is a distinction between me and you,
And the tea leaves in the bottom of my empty cup.
I have wanted and I have undone and I have cut.
To spin and weave and ravel and stitch.
I have a look about me and I have looked up.

There is a distinction in the lines of the wrinkles,
On your face.
There is a distinction in the roads on the map of where you go,
The ways you might take.
You are far away.
I am very close.

There is a distinction between us, only the night truly knows.
The stars are marveling at the gravity that they boast.
I have seen the distance between us and its true expanse.
The cosmos, not so easily crossed, have laughed at my attempts.
There is a fjord between us again, or it will be soon.

A distinction, a satellite waving, as it passes the moon.
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #36 on: July 26, 2010, 10:18:11 AM »

It has been brought to my attention that "CLICK" makes no sense. This may help a little. The counting (elven hundred, eleven hundred and one, etc.) is in reference to the counting and the loosing count of firefly's flashes.
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #37 on: September 27, 2010, 08:08:04 PM »

Have you seen my beloved?
A dangerous man is he
His hair is black as a starless night
His eyes like the bluest sea
His heart beats in my chest
He is a heartless man, you see
Have you seen my beloved?
A dangerous man is he
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #38 on: October 05, 2010, 11:31:00 AM »

In Time, Together

I saw a shadow of a pine, leaning over a softly flowing brook, and in the shadow of the pine leaning over the softly flowing brook I caught the glimpse of your lovely face. My heart beat. Your heart beat. In time, together. Oh that we were fish again. In the shadow of the pine tree, would you grant my wish again? Swimming silently by each other. Curving perfectly around each other. In time, together.

I remember the branches of the pine, leaning over a softly flowing brook, in the branches of the pine leaning over the softly flowing brook I caught the sound of your lovely voice. My heart beat. Your heart beat. In time, together. Oh that we were birds again. In the branches of the pine tree, would we take flight again? Fluttering feathers all about each other. Soft cooing words to each other. In time, together.

But the pine is gone, the brook is dry, and I am far away from the pine and the brook and your lovely soul. My heart is still. Your heart is still. Will we be, in time, together? Oh that I could hold your hand again. By the roots of the old pine tree, to touch your skin again. I must hope we will hold each other. I must have faith we will meet each other. And be, in time, together.
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #39 on: October 13, 2010, 10:11:49 PM »

Survivor

I've got a damned dark feeling.
I've got a damned sense about things.
I've got a pretentious warning.
I've got a foreboding premonition.

I've got a cup that's not broken.
It's got a chip in the lip of its rim.
It's got a crack in the bowl that you hold.
It's got a missing handle.

I've got a story that's not known.
It's the story of every lost love.
It's the story of every emotional coping.
It's the story of every survivor.

I've got a damned dark feeling.
You're going to have forgotten me when we meet.
For the first time.
In time.
Here, at least.

I've got a song that's not sung.
It's the song of boots ringing in time together.
It's the song of doors slamming one by one.
It's the song of gunshots in the distance.

In the night.

I've got a damned dark feeling about this one.
It's gonna be a damned cold one.
It's gonna be a damned long one.
It's gonna be damned.

I've got a sense of things.
I've got a feel for myself.
I've got up to my feet.
I've got knocked down again.

I've still got your heart.
You want it back yet, or what?

I've got a sword that's never been used.
It's got blood on the blade.
It's got a notch in the flat side.
It's got finger prints on the hilt.

I've got a road that's not been walked down.
It's got traveler's plenty.
It's got deep wheel ruts.
It's got pot holes like prostitutes.

I've got a pretentious warning.
I've got a call to come in for the night.
I've got a priest by the balls.
I've got God on the phone.

There's not a whole lot left.
It's a damned sad thing.
It's a damned shame.
It's a real pity.

I've got a fistful of unused paper.
It's got words written all over it.
It's got pages and binding.
It's got a title on the cover.

I've got a foreboding premonition.
It's like I've got money coming.
It's like I've got good things on my way.
It's like I'm going to rule the world soon.

I've got a damned dark feeling.
Like a gun that's not been shot.
The barrel's still warm and smoking.
It's got one bullet missing.

I've gotten to see through blind eyes.
I've gotten to feel with a black heart.
I've gotten to break with a steel soul.
I've gotten to fly with lead wings.

I've got a damned dark feeling.
I've got to survive this shit that's coming too.
« Last Edit: October 13, 2010, 10:14:13 PM by Wunderkind »
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #40 on: October 28, 2010, 10:26:34 PM »

The Shadow of Man

I have seen a shadow of a man.
I have seen proof of life.
I have seen the living dead.
I have seen a dark light.

The world is quite flat, my son.
The field of vision is narrow.
The cards are all on the table now.
We know what will happen tomorrow.

Every move and turn plotted out.
A course so carefully planned.
All will come to naught, though.
All will be an hourglass void of sand.

There is a secret army with me.
I have great power to wield at my hand.
I know that it is time rise up.
I have seen the shadow of man.
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #41 on: April 01, 2011, 11:56:31 PM »

It's been a while, hasn't it?
Rooms
I never guaranteed you that I would be clothed.

I'm sorry that nakedness offends you.

It's the best way I've found to be honest,

the best way to the tell the truth.

I never guaranteed you the world, or the moon,

or any of the ridiculous things we promise,

like forever. I don't like people touching me

I'm not a huge fan of the kiss.

I'm as quirky as they come, at best.

Eccentric, if you want to use a pretty word,

And I'm happy with me as me

And I'll keep me as me, for me is pure.

You'll suggest I make room for another,

I think that's bizarre and obscure.

But there it is anyways, against my will,

like a maze. A room in my heart for sure.

I never guaranteed you anything coherent.

I'm hardly sober enough to cope to with the life

as you call it. I only want freedom

to be as I am and express that freedom with light.

I never guaranteed you a place in my heart,

Yet I assumed a little corner there.

How dare I intrude on our little room,

But since I'm here, I'm glad I'm here.

I hope you'll be here too, soon.

--I'm drunk. I'm not guaranteeing any of that is worth shit. <-- that is not part of the poem> (I felt the need to close the <> tag, like a parentheses but with style.)
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #42 on: May 17, 2011, 12:44:13 AM »

Loosed

There it is.
A shadow, a fog, a cough.
He breathes out, she breathes in.
They laugh, they point,
tortured themselves inside
where no one is allowed in.

The night, the day,
the earth is round and
I am hollow and hallowed.
A single letter,
a single sound and the world,
the universe, is shaped by vowels.

Oh look I fell again.
Oh look I get back up again.
He is surrendering to her surrendering.
There is a light.
And men are made of words.
Here we are, in the dark, fumbling.

I made life.
I made it by killing.
All those long promises,
there they are,
and there they go.
We are made of blessings.

Here it is,
a bright, burning,
shining, stinging, blinding truth.
All men's sadness
and all men's mirth
is tied to a captive thought

now loosed.
« Last Edit: May 17, 2011, 12:47:00 AM by Wunderkind »
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The_Me

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #43 on: May 17, 2011, 12:01:18 PM »

^
I really love this poem.

Especially this part:

The night, the day,
the earth is round and
I am hollow and hallowed.
A single letter,
a single sound and the world,
the universe, is shaped by vowels.

Gives me shivers, in a good way, if you know what I mean :)
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #44 on: November 28, 2011, 11:09:30 PM »


[Possibly] NSFW







You

I want to travel to that exotic country that is your body.
I want to explore the country side of your skin with my fingertips.
I want to visit the dark forests of your soul
And know you in the dark,
the light,
the rain,
the night.
I want to touch every part of you,
To be the discoverer of you,
To be nationalized to you,
The queen of you.
I want to be a citizen of your body.

I want to read all the books in the library of your memories.
I want to study your air currents,
Your warm, East Asian spiced breezes,
The breath of you.
I want to be the expert of the smell of you.
I want to know the origin of you,
To be the anthropologist of you,
To be the curator of the museum of you,
The historian of you.
I want to map the topography of your being.

I want to more than love you.
I want to become a part of you.
Like the natives of a land.
When they speak of me,
I want them to speak of me as
Being essential to you.
Until I blend into you.
Until I'm natural to you.
Like a landmark, a wonder,
A very real and necessary portion
Of the foundation and culture of you.

And then I want to never leave.

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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #45 on: July 23, 2012, 08:25:43 PM »

Please allow me to resurrect this thread.
*draws circle*
*summons demons*
*raises the powers of the Catholic Church*
*casts resurrection spell*

Holding

I’ve been holding onto lies.

Like rags, they are torn and dirty.

They hang from my hands

As I grip them tightly.

I’ve been holding onto lies.

My white knuckled grip cannot be loosened.

It is a life line to the land.

I do not hold them lightly.

I’ve been saving all these untruths

To save my own self,

If you can understand

it. I know they are unsightly.

They have stained my hands.

I am made of old lies.

I exist because they were spoken.

If they go, I go.

I will shift away like sand.

But this too

Is untrue.

This too is untrue.

I am holding on to lies.

I carry rags like treasure.

I wear threads like gold

Like the wealthy wear ease.

But I will let go of this untruth

That I have no measure.

These things are old

And will be released.

They have the worth

That they gave to me.

So I will untie the hold

That they have on me.

Because they are untrue

And I am not worth

These old lies.

I deserve only the truth.

-R.A. Fialkiewicz
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #46 on: July 30, 2012, 11:06:47 PM »


Therapy

I have a feeling I’m going to be crying more often than not while this is happening.

I have a feeling I’ll be MIA for more than one day while shit goes down.

I have a feeling you’ll mean less to me when I come out the other side.

I have a feeling this means first grounding as well as finding the ground.

In suspension I don’t have face the heights I have to rise to.

If I pretend I don’t know where the floor is I can ignore the ceiling.

If you are always at the door leading out of this closed space

Then I don’t have to assign the walls around me any further meaning.

I have created the knife that I hold at my own throat.

I have created the gun that I hold at my own head.

And I joke and I laugh and I make fun of me and my threats

Because it is made of sugar means it’s not full of lead.

And I have a feeling I’m stronger than you.

I have a feeling I always have been.

I have a feeling I’m braver than you think I am

And I will find I am more than you while this is happening.

Of course on some level I am strong because of you

But I will not thank you yet.

You will have none of my gratitude

Not while I undo all the bogus standards you set.

While this is happening, you will be a stranger to me

And that will be easy because you made it impossible for me to know you.

In return you made it impossible to know me.

I will not regret that for you.

I have a feeling they will wonder why they had not met me before.

I have a feeling they will say that they missed me.

I have a feeling that despite how difficult you made it

Somebody in here loves me, while this is happening.

That somebody matters the most.

That somebody is the matter that is happening.

She is the matter at hand that matters more than you.

She is the matter with me.

I have a feeling you will come to me with cupped hands

But I won’t be who you are coming to, while this is happening.

You will come towards me but end up at them.

This heart and harbor is closed, at least, while this is happening.

I have a feeling you won’t like who greets you when this is over

And you really won’t be in any sort of control.

I have a feeling there will be a rearrangement, a change of guard

A mutiny of sorts in the order of what matters in my soul.

I have a feeling I’ll be quiet and alone while this is happening.

I’ll be withdrawn more than a few times while I talk to myself

About how to proceed with many things.

Because what is happening is about me.

This is not about you or him or them

But about me and that someone inside me

Who loves me.

So I have a feeling I will become withdrawn and awkward while this is happening.

I have a feeling I will live with a box of tissues in my purse for a while.

I have a feeling I will get angry at random, for no reason, for a time.

I will accuse everyone but me for the state of me and know that I am lying.

You’ll have to excuse the mess on aisle four, she’s in a state of reviving.

I don’t seek to solve a problem, there is no real equation.

I have a matter, with which I require assistance, is all.

That matter is the matter of she who hates me and she who loves me within me.

I have a matter with whatever is the matter with me and that matter is me.

I have a feeling I’ll be a while, untangling this heinous mess.

I have a feeling to go away and hide my face while I pick at the knots.

I will curse and scream and blame and cry and none of it will be about me

Because it is actually about me and I don’t want it to be

And I will cry more often than not while this is happening.
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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #47 on: July 30, 2012, 11:08:01 PM »

Coming soon, the more popular version of "Therapy" - "Fuck you, dad".
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Demosthenes

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #48 on: September 06, 2012, 10:04:12 PM »

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Wunderkind

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Re: F**k it... I'm writing a poem
« Reply #49 on: September 10, 2012, 09:42:59 AM »

Now I feel the urge to actually write something called "fuck you, dad", but I can't figure out where to start with it. I want to though, because that would be one bad-ass angry poem.
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